


Dekala, Revisited

by Elise_Davidson



Series: 40 Snapshots [13]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: 13. Black, 40 Snapshots, Episode s1ep18: Rogue Planet, Joyride in an andorian shuttle, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elise_Davidson/pseuds/Elise_Davidson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a casual joyride in Shran's shuttle, Archer sees the rogue planet, Dekala, on the sensors.</p>
<p>Shran is in no mood to talk about his visit there after the Eska stopped going there.</p>
<p>Archer makes him talk about it anyway, and it goes about as one would plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dekala, Revisited

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged to s1ep18: Rogue Planet. Not really much plot here, just good old fashioned PWP. Would say that it more than likely takes place before Shran left the guard at the very least.
> 
> Beta'd by LegacySoulReaver; remaining mistakes are my own.

  1. Black



 

It was on a joyride, really, when Archer encountered Dekala again, a rogue planet of never-ending darkness.  Shran was with him in an Andorian shuttle, one that made warp 4 look like child’s play.  Archer didn’t complain, nor did he demand to see the systems.  He was just enjoying the side-journey into the stars, something Shran had more or less promised in duplicitous words ever since their second encounter (because really, their first encounter was little more than violence and an abrupt understanding that Terrans were quite different than the Vulcans who helped them).

The stars were flying by in a tint of streaked rainbows too fast to really catch when the odd sensor sweep caught a rogue planet.

“That’s Dekala,” Archer said, pointing at the alien symbols of Shran’s sensor screen.  “Pretty interesting rogue planet.”

Shran snorted.  “I’ve been there.  Not much to look at but darkness and things that might be real.”

His voice sounded funny, and it made Archer glance over his shoulder, back to where the main navigation and piloting column that Shran stood at.  “You’ve been there?”

Shran nodded tightly.  “Once, recently.  We’ve known about it for some time on Andoria, but we had been told for quite a while that it was off-limits due to the Eska’s rights to hunt there.  Apparently, they no longer deign it any kind of worthy ground to prey upon and so I led the exploratory team to investigate any potential resources.”

There was more to what Shran was relaying; the man always had a way of saying too much without letting anything else through.

“We encountered it pretty early in our travels,” Archer reminisced.  “Within the first year, I think.  There were Eska there, but they were hunting these…Wraiths, these telepathic beings who could shape-shift and—“

“Enough,” Shran cut him off sharply.  “I was there; I remember.  Those _things_ get into your head, show you things that are not real.”  His blue fingers gesticulated wildly over the navigational screen and his antennae were tight and bowed together.

Archer frowned down at his screen for a moment.  “So you saw something there?  We’re the ones who ran the Eska off.”

“We all probably saw something there,” Shran responded, and Archer could practically feel how hard Shran was trying for casual.  It set the hairs on the back of Archer’s neck straight up, and he stood to walk over to the man.  “Some more than others,” Shran murmured when Archer peered over his shoulder to cast a curious glance to Andorian navigational systems.

“I saw a woman from a poem my father used to read to me,” Archer admitted.  “There was never a picture of her; just what I thought of in my head as what she must have looked like.”  He tensed behind Shran, and saw more than felt it in the movement of Shran’s antennae that the Andorian had also stiffened.  “What did you see?”

Shran pulled no punches.  “I saw you, pinkskin,” he snapped irritably, staring resolutely at the console, as if the insult would make Archer shove away.

“You saw me?” Archer asked instead.  “Do you know _why_ the Wraiths there pick the images they do?”  He hadn’t realized how cautious his inquiry sounded until Shran shot him a dirty look that clearly implied that Archer didn’t need to treat him with a dulled icepick.

“I don’t _care_ ,” Shran said emphatically.  He plugged something into the screen in front of him before suddenly whirling around, getting Archer out of his space and into the wall of the shuttle.  “Has it occurred to you that I perhaps didn’t want to get into this?  At all?  Or were you just playing your usual ignorant-Terran self until you found something to hold over my head?”

Archer felt his throat close a little.  “What…what are you—I seriously have _no idea_ what you—“

But then Shran was tightly against him, pinning him to the wall, a leg between his own and hands strongly pinning his shoulders.  “You didn’t get that I _didn’t_ want to talk about this, pinkskin?”  His fingers curled around Archer’s shoulders, hard enough to bruise.  “And here I thought Terrans tended to be a bit exceptional—more so than Vulcans anyway—at picking up vocal tones when one doesn’t wish to speak about something.”

Archer’s breath was gone, and his dick was suddenly far too hard for his own liking.  He watched Shran’s antennae twitch—the right more so than the left—and felt the hard line of erect, male flesh shoving against his hip.  He heard a needy throaty sound bitten off into the silence of the shuttle, and it took him longer than he would like to realize it had been _him_.

Archer needed to even the grounds, needed to put Shran off his footing as much as he himself was now.  “And yet, I’m the one you saw on Dekala, aren’t I?  Who’s really being secretive here?”

Shran didn’t respond right away, his face taut and angry and his hands dug into Archer’s shoulders.  “You still don’t understand, do you, pinkskin?” he hissed.  “I _don’t_ want to _talk_ about _this_.”

The hard cock against Archer’s hip belied something else entirely.

***        ****     ***

“Well?” Shran demanded, hands curling around Archer’s wrists to pin them by Archer’s neck.  “Do you understand, _pinkskin_?” and the insult was unmistakable in a way that he hadn’t tried for in years with the Terran captain.

Archer turned his angry gaze to Shran.  “Has it _occurred_ to you at _all_ ,” he growled snidely, “That I wanted to know why those Wraiths would pick me to appear to you?  That I wanted to know _why_ one of these things sensed you and that _I’m_ the one they felt you could trust?”

Abruptly, Archer jammed his shoulder into Shran’s neck, hard enough that Shran’s hands came loose, and the human took the opportunity to get Shran to the floor of the shuttle.  He straddled Shran’s hips with his ankles wrapped around Shran’s knees to keep his legs in place, one hand pinning Shran’s wrists above his head and the other suddenly dragging along the blue skin of his ribs.

“What happened when you saw me there?”

“Pinkskin, _don’t_ —“  His voice was cut short when a reluctant moan slipped from his mouth as Archer ground into Shran’s hips, creating a pressure that had Shran’s antennae falling back against his hair.  He struggled against Archer’s grip, all too aware of just how hard they both were.  “ _Stop_ , Archer—“

Archer’s mouth was hot on the side of his neck, dragging up to behind his ear and then pausing to nibble at the ridge that separated Shran’s forehead from his antenna.  “You really want me to?” he asked against the skin, scorching breath falling over Shran’s face like admission, “Or do you want to tell me why you saw me on Dekala?”

Control was quickly slipping away, and _fuck_ , Archer was hot and alive above him, flushed pale skin and green-gold eyes flecked with black, slowly thrusting down like he _wanted_ it, just like the Wraith had done on _Dekala_ and—

_No_.

Shran shoved up, struggling to buck Archer from him.  “ _Fuck_ , _stop_ , I _can’t_ do this, _please_ , Archer—“ His voice shut up again, having caught sharply in his throat when Archer actually did stop.

Archer looked afraid and careful, and there was a healthy amount of insecurity there.  He released Shran’s wrists.  “I’m…” He stopped, took a deep breath, and shakily began again.  “If you don’t _want_ this, then—“ He stopped, moving away from Shran all together.

The heavy breathing echoed in Shran’s ears the entire way as he remained on the floor.  He wasn’t even sure he could fucking _stand_ yet, not with his dick as hard as it was.  He angled his gaze until he could see the tightly drawn lines of Archer’s body, trapped in their blue jumpsuit with the gold piping, and could practically see the edge of want in him.

“You want this?” Shran asked, opting to call him nothing in lieu of insult, and raised himself to his elbows.

Archer’s shoulders hunched.  “Do you?” he responded, and though there was a certain casual tone there, it did little to hide the fact that Archer wanted this very, _very_ much.

“Turn around, pinkskin,” Shran suddenly said, and wormed his hand beneath the leathers of his military uniform to stroke and finger along his cock.

Archer turned obediently before his jaw slackened and his eyes grew wide.

Shran tilted his head back, feeling the brush of hair against the lower nape of his neck even as pleasure streaked through him like the fire of Archer’s body against his own.  “You want _this_?” he asked again, and lowered his breeches down so that his dick was out and visible, fingers dancing against the slightly-thicker skin.

Archer was openly staring, palming his cock through his jumpsuit.  “ _Fuck_ ,” was the only word Shran heard, followed by a series of curses and other words his translator didn’t quite pick up, but if he got the gist of it, than it was that Archer wanted to fuck him— _fiercely_.

Shran sat up, leaning against the wall that was near his transporter.  Though he mourned the loss of his hand on his dick, it was worth it when he got his leather pants around his ankles, sat back up against the bulkhead, and began stripping his fingers over his dick.

Archer’s eyes were blown wide, and he unzipped his jumpsuit to reveal a blue, sleeveless undershirt with too much pale skin available, and then the jutting bones of very pink hips, and the sudden dark hair leading to his erect cock, the tip now peeking above where Archer had shoved his uniform down.  The head was wet and glistening in the lights.

Shran moaned, hips thrusting into his own hand.  “On the planet you call Dekala,”, and he tried not to think of how the human-sounding word came out wrong against his tongue, “You fucked me.”  He still wasn’t even sure if one of the creatures had actually taken him or just made him think so, but it had felt real enough either way that it had been all he could think about ever since.

Archer let out a high-pitched keening noise that Shran didn’t think he was capable of.  “Then _show_ me,” he shallowly breathed, “Fuck yourself for me.”

Shran jerked at the order, his hand stuttering on his cock.  “If I’m going to do _that_ , pinkskin,”, and this time, the insult was deliberate, “Then you’re gonna have to come over here and suck my fingers.”  He breathed in sharply.  “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fucked myself thinking about yo—“

Archer was on him in an instant, kissing him deeply and running a slick wet tongue across Shran’s lips.  Shran arched up to chase the kiss when Archer broke it off, but instead got a mouthful of Archer’s fingers for his trouble.

Eyes darkened to near black now, black like the lack of sun on that fucking planet, Archer stared down at him, the fingers of one hand shoved into Shran’s mouth and the other gently fingering his left antenna.

“Do you want me to fuck you or do you want to fuck yourself?” Archer asked, a new timbre to his voice that Shran had never heard before.  It was drenched in desire and arousal—it sounded completely ruined to Shran’s ears, the heat of Archer’s body suddenly striking and thrilling against his own cooler flesh.

“I want to show you,” Shran stuttered out as Archer’s fingers finally left his mouth.  He was hazy with need now, too turned on to care how wanton he must appear, how his fingers grasped against his dick with abandon as his free hand drifted to Archer’s mouth.

The blush-pretty skin of Archer’s lips wrapped around Shran’s blue fingers, taking them in and tonguing them thoroughly, saliva thick and like honey.  Archer must have made some kind of effort to ensure that Shran’s fingers were coated entirely; Shran could feel spit trailing down his wrist.

“You _know_ what I want, Shran,” Archer bit out against the tips of Shran’s nails with his eyes cast down.

“Say it then,” Shran demanded, an uncharacteristic insecurity drifting over him as he thrust up into his hand.

Archer ducked his head, seeming a bit shy himself, before the words were muttered hot and dark into his ear, “ _Fuck_ _yourself for me_.”

Shran wasn’t sure he would have been able to deny the request—he yanked his spit-coated fingers from Archer’s mouth and abruptly shoved one finger into the trembling entrance of his ass.  Words spilled from his mouth, alien and foreign, things he knew the translator couldn’t seem to do anything with.

Archer seemed to understand though, mouthing insistently at his collarbone, eyes cast downward to see, and  _fuck_ if that wasn't a turn on that Shran wasn't aware he had.

It was only then that Shran realized Archer was still jacking himself off beside of him, trembled words spilled against his skin as Archer’s fingers stripped along his dick while Shran jerked himself off almost desperately, one finger becoming two and then three, shoving haphazardly into his body.

“Oh,” Shran groaned, fingers falling shy of where he needed pressure.  “If you could _feel_ what I’m feeling…” He left off without calling Archer anything, because he had a half-suspicion deep in the back of his mind that Archer would want him to call him by his given name, Jonathon.

Archer shuddered beside of him.  “ _Fuck_ , Shran…” he trailed off, the want clear in his voice if not the way he was practically rutting against him.

“Thy’lek,” Shran insisted, surprising himself but maybe not really since he had just been thinking about given names.

Archer choked out his name, the accent unfamiliar and the tonal quality so far off that Shran was thrusting back down into his own fingers.  He felt a splash of hot, wet liquid dripping against his cool skin, and realized that the wrecked quality of Archer’s voice was because the Terran was _coming_ on him.

Shran couldn’t hold back anymore, thrusting hard enough on his fingers that it hit a bright spot of nerves and then his thumb curved just right over the top of his dick, and he was coming so hard that he didn’t even _know_ what was falling from lips or whether the translator could pick it up.  He ached, whimpering a bit, as he shoved into his fist and then back to his fingers.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re beautiful like this,” Archer’s voice rumbled in the fading shakes of Shran’s orgasm.

Shran breathed harsh and shallow, gently twisting his fingers away from his ass and not expecting it when Archer sucked those same fingers into his mouth.  It was hot and near unbearable, and Shran’s cock gave a twitch at it.

It was several long moments before Shran thought he could speak again, and even when he thought he could, he didn’t.  He slumped into the floor, boneless and sated.

Archer stretched out alongside him, clearly not caring they were on the floor of the shuttle and his mouth still appreciating Shran’s skin.  “So…” Archer murmured against his shoulder.  “Clearly some chemistry here, don’t you think?”

Shran snorted in his usual way, despite the fact his leather pants were around his ankles like a common whore.  Words licked and bit at the molars of his teeth, manifesting ultimately as a twitch of his right antenna.  He hunkered into the floor of the shuttle, not knowing if he was really able to understand the ramifications of what he had just done.

Archer sighed beside of him; the sound came off as fond and affectionate and slightly frustrated.  “Does it help if I tell you I’ve fucked myself while thinking of you?”

Shran felt his balls answer more than anything else—they _absolutely_ twitched in the thought of what Archer would look like, all pale flushed skin with even paler heels kicked up over Shran’s shoulders, and Shran would angle and fuck him _deep_ —

Archer’s chuckle drew him out of his reverie.  “So you like that?”

It was only now Shran realized he was covering Archer’s body with his own, a hand possessively gripped over the pale hip.  The blue of his skin was stark against the pallor of Archer’s flesh.

“Yeah,” Shran finally said, teeth nipping along Archer’s neck, “I like that.”  He mouthed along Archer’s chest until he could scrape against a nipple.  “Would you fuck yourself for me, like I just did for you?”

Archer’s voice was reedy; his dick twitched against Shran’s hip.  “Yeah,” came the breathless answer.  “Yeah, I would, just so I could see _this_ ,” his fingers pinched lightly at the bottom of Shran’s left antenna, “Twitch.”

Shran probably would have come again if he had been able to.  “What if I just wanted to see you prepare yourself for me?  Get yourself nice and worked so that your cock is hard and your ass is open and ready?”

Archer trembled almost violently beside of him before training his eyes to Shran, eyes that were now completely some shade of green-black that Shran had never seen before.  “Whatever you want…” He trailed it off long enough that Shran knew there was a follow up, and he wasn’t disappointed.  “ _Thy’lek_.”

Shran groaned and nipped Archer’s neck. “You just wait, _Jonathon_.”

His pronunciation was so far off that he wasn’t even sure he pronounced it _correctly_ , but then again, Archer’s mouth was wrapped around his dick, and he couldn’t honestly say he cared at the moment.

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End file.
